


A Welcome Party

by MissNaya



Series: S I N [2]
Category: DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Blood and Gore, Blow Jobs, Cannibalism, Dubious Consent, Guro, Multi, Public Blow Jobs, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:16:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27037822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissNaya/pseuds/MissNaya
Summary: Jason is Bruce Wayne's newest slave. As is tradition, a party is thrown to welcome him to the family.He's not a big fan of the menu.
Relationships: Harper Row/Jason Todd
Series: S I N [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1844974
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	A Welcome Party

**Author's Note:**

> hey, y'all! I am so excited to bring you another installment of my guroverse series! once again Jason-focused, though not all these vignettes will be. I just, y'know. have a problem.
> 
> anyway, as always, mind the tags, and enjoy!

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for being here today to celebrate with us,” Bruce says, after tapping a fork against a champagne flute to get everyone’s attention. “I hope you’re enjoying yourselves so far. I’d like to direct your attention to the door, and please give a warm welcome to the newest addition to the Wayne family: Jason!”

Everyone mingling in Wayne Manor’s spacious backyard does as they’re told, and a second later, the large double doors swing open. The first person they all see is the family butler, Alfred, dressed in his impeccable suit and smart collar. Then he steps to the side and holds out an arm, gesturing to the guest of honor: Jason, in nothing but a collar of his own.

Shiny. Silver. With “WE” delicately carved into it, it’s both an art piece and a symbol of ownership.

Jason hates it, like he’s hated every other stupid collar he’s worn in the past.

But when he steps over the landing and onto the back porch, the crowd erupts into applause. For  _ him. _ It’s an odd feeling, being the center of attention. Uncomfortable, when he’s naked like this, but there’s nothing he can do about that. “ _ Tradition _ ,” Bruce said. Promised it’d only be for this one event, then he could go back to wearing clothes again.

He’s not holding out hope.

Bruce walks over to him and lays a broad hand on his back. He thinks the smile is supposed to be comforting, but it just comes off as tonedeaf.

“First thing’s first,” Bruce says, rubbing Jason’s back in little circles. “I know you’re all thirsty.”

A few people in the crowd clap politely to show their interest.

Jason feels his heart in his throat. He’s been briefed on what’s coming next, and he’s not exactly thrilled about it.

“Jason.” Bruce lowers his voice so that only Jason can hear him. “Dick’s good at this. You’ll be fine. Okay?”

Jason gives a curt nod, not looking at him. He’s staring into the crowd, trying to memorize the faces of the bluebloods gathered behind a long refreshments table. A lot of them showed up to Roman’s parties; there’s decent crossover between social groups among Gotham’s elite. Which means many of them saw him get his face slammed through a table and did nothing about it. It’s not like he expected them to, but it still makes him seethe with anger just seeing them.

There are new faces, though, too. A few younger people in the crowd, ones who look his age. He’s not sure if that’s better or worse than the party being made up entirely of old, “traditional” people.

“Alright.” Then Dick’s at his side, naked as the day he was born. He takes Jason’s arm and guides him down the steps, onto the soft grass. “It’s time, little brother. You ready?”

Jason glares, both because he’s not Dick’s little brother, and he is not, in fact, ready. How could anyone be ready for something like this?

But he’s silent as he’s led over to a large wooden pole staked into the ground on the other side of the refreshment table from the guests. Silent as Dick expertly ties knots around his wrists, securing him by a short length of rope to the pole. Silent as Dick lifts the long, sharp knife from the table and settles beside him, tangling a hand through his hair.

Everyone is silent as they watch, champagne flutes in their hands. That’s not what they’ll be drinking today, not after this.

Bending him over the large punch bowl in the center of the table, Dick gives him one last smile before dragging the knife from jugular to jugular.

What would usually be blinding, intense pain registers as a searing pleasure the likes of which Jason has (almost) never felt before. He’d moan if blood wasn’t bubbling up into his mouth, his ruined throat spilling blood rapidly into the already-red punch beneath him. Shamefully, he feels his cock twitch, though he tries his best not to give in and get hard. Not here. Not where everyone can see.

The crowd cheers as his blood drips messily into the wide bowl. He hopes they can see the look in his eyes, the one that says  _ you all disgust me. _

The blood won’t stop on its own, not with how fast Jason’s body can make more, so after a sufficient amount of it has been added to the punch, Dick pulls him back and presses a cloth to the wound. The pressure sends another shock of pleasure through Jason’s body, and he feels little stings of it as his body starts to stitch itself together blood vessel by blood vessel.

“You did great,” Dick whispers into his ear as the guests line up to fill their cups.

After regenerating and getting cleaned up, Jason is allowed to walk around freely. It’s a nice idea in theory, but in practice, he has no desire to mingle. As soon as he’s allowed, he walks off to one side of the backyard, intending to let everyone else have their fun drinking his blood, but of course it isn’t that easy. Of course they wouldn’t let him rest.

Sometimes one by one, sometimes in small groups, people who never had any interest in him before come up to him. The ones he recognizes from Roman’s circle of friends are the ones he’s most wary of. There’s Carmine Falcone, whose slave meat restaurant chain dominates Gotham. Jason is pretty sure it’s a money laundering operation between him and Roman. He’d almost found enough evidence to prove it before that little incident at Roman’s party.

Then there are the Elliotts, who seem to be split evenly in their loyalties between Roman and Bruce. Tommy in particular, the patriarch, is particularly attached to Bruce’s side. He always is, whenever they’re at the same party. Jason’s got it pegged as something of a crush mixed with an obsession. Not particularly rare for people to be obsessed with Bruce Wayne, but there’s something about Tommy Elliott that’s always rubbed Jason the wrong way.

After that are the ones he hasn’t seen hanging around Roman often. A woman with a shock of red hair on her head introduces herself as Kate Kane, Bruce’s cousin. And it figures, doesn’t it? Of course two of the wealthiest families in Gotham are related. Of course the rich who have a monopoly on the city are all in each other’s pockets.

No sign of Cobblepot, though. That makes Jason silently satisfied.

He doesn’t take much of an interest in anyone until he sees the girl in the wheelchair. Pushed over the grass by an older man with a large mustache and larger glasses, she isn’t anyone he’s seen around before. He looks up from his seat when they stop in front of him, looking between the girl and the man.

They bear a striking resemblance, which is why Jason isn’t surprised when the man says, “Nice to meet you, Jason. I’m Commissioner Gordon. This is my daughter, Barbara.”

Jason’s heard of Commissioner Gordon, of course. Everyone in Gotham even slightly adjacent to the criminal element has. But this is his first time seeing him in person, and he has to say, the guy looks exactly how he pictured.

But he’s more interested in Barbara. Glasses like her father, red hair down past her shoulders, she has a look about her that doesn’t seem as haughty as the others. Jason tries not to stare at her wheelchair, but he can’t help himself. And as she stares back at him, he can’t help but wonder if she’s thinking the same thing he is.

Paralyzing someone like him permanently would be impossible. Nothing that happens to him is permanent. Hell, he was just standing over a punch bowl not twenty minutes ago bleeding out, and now here he is, throat intact, looking no worse for the wear.

He wonders if Barbara has ever walked. If she was born that way, or if she had her freedom suddenly and unfairly taken from her. Does she resent people like him, he wonders? That’s if she even considers them people at all. Jason suddenly feels very awkward, throat dry, but he doesn’t dare to go up to the refreshments table and grab something. Doesn’t want to look down into the rapidly-emptying bowl containing his own blood.

“Er, hi,” he says, because no matter how many people come up to him, he still doesn’t know what the fuck he’s supposed to say. _ Hi, hello, I’m the one you’re all going to eat soon. Which part of me looks more tender, my ass or my thighs? _

“Jason.” Barbara’s voice is surprisingly… not gentle, per se, but friendly in a way he hadn’t been expecting. Immediately, his cheeks go red, ashamed at the thought that she might resent him simply for existing. He shouldn’t assume. “It’s nice to meet you.”

It’s one of the first times he’s heard that. Certainly the first time that it didn’t feel condescending, like a human telling a dog how nice it is to look at, how soft it must be to pet.

“Uh, yeah. You too.” He shifts in his seat, not sure what to say. “So… Police commissioner? You must have your hands full in this town.”

The elder Gordon gives a strained smile under his mustache. “You got that right. Could hardly spare the time to come here tonight, but, well, I wanted to be here with Barbara.”

He lays a hand on Barbara’s shoulder. He, too, sounds surprisingly genuine.

Jason wonders if Gordon catches the subtle roll of Barbara’s eyes. It doesn’t seem like it.

“I told you, dad, I’ll be fine on my own,” she says.

“I know, but this yard is a little bumpy, and you know I worry—”

“I know.” Barbara is smiling, but it’s tight-lipped. “You should go bug Bruce to get more of it paved. Seriously, dad, go have fun. I’ll be fine for five minutes.”

Gordon looks a little hesitant, but eventually he pats Barbara’s back and nods. “Alright. Just give me a shout if you need me.”

“Will do.” She waits and watches him walk away, then turns back to Jason, a bit more of a genuine smile on her face. “Parents. Right?”

The second she says it, she seems to realize her mistake. Very rarely are slaves raised in family units; some smaller breeders do it that way, but most separate the infants from their parents as soon after birth as possible. It’s a luxury for a slave to grow up with a parent.

A luxury Jason won’t tell anyone he had.

“Sorry, I—”

“You’re fine,” he says, with his own tight-lipped smile. It’s the first smile of any kind he’s given anyone all day. “He seems like a handful.”

Again, Barbara rolls her eyes. “He’s been like this ever since… well.”

She gestures to her lap. Jason nods.

“I’m sure he’s worried about you,” he says. “He loves you. That’s what parents do, right?”

Barbara’s eyes soften. She looks down at her hands in her lap, twiddling her thumbs.

“Yeah… I just wish he’d give me a little breathing room.”

Breathing room. Ha. Jason remembers gurgling on his own blood, tries not to let it show on his face. For some reason, he doesn’t quite feel like being mean to this one.

“I know the feeling,” he says, looking around at the partygoers. Some of them look back at him, and he quickly breaks eye contact, not wanting to invite anyone else over.

It doesn’t work, though. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees two pairs of feet approaching, but he doesn’t look up until he hears one of their voices.

“Babs! It’s so great to see you here!”

A blonde girl bends down to wrap her arms around Barbara, who returns the hug. Next to her is a guy that looks maybe 19 at the oldest, in a suit that seems a little too big for him. He meets Jason’s eyes, and Jason looks away.

“Steph, you too!” Barbara says. When they pull back to look at each other, they smile warmly, like old friends. “How’ve you and Tim been?”

“Oh, we’ve been great,” Steph says, straightening up to wrap her arms around one of Tim’s. “And you?”

“Rolling with the punches,” Barbara says with a little smirk.

Jason can’t help it. He snorts out a laugh.

He regrets it right after, when all three of them turn to look right at him. Again, his cheeks color. He clears his throat awkwardly.

Steph breaks the silence for all of them. “So! Jason. How are you liking the manor so far? Totally crazy, right?”

Jason shrugs. “It’s okay. Not really my style.”

“Oh, I know what you mean,” Steph says, and already, Jason can tell that she’s a chatterbox. “The first time I came here, I was like, whooooa! This is insane! How many people live here? And Bruce was like, how many was it back then, Tim?”

Tim opens his mouth to speak. Steph beats him to it.

“Like, four people. Four people, and all that space! It’s crazy! He has bathrooms bigger than my whole apartment.”

Ah. So Steph isn’t from money. That’s interesting; Jason didn’t know people like Bruce even let poor people breathe their air, let alone come to their parties.

“Uh-huh,” he says, just because he feels like he has to say  _ something. _

Undeterred, Steph continues. “I mean, there are more people there now, but it’s still wild, right? How rich people just have all this space they don’t know what to do with? Er, no offense, Tim.”

Tim gives her a little smile and a shrug. “None taken. You know how I feel about all this.”

“Oh!” Steph smacks a palm on Tim’s chest. “Right! Totally forgot to introduce ourselves. I’m Stephanie Brown.”

“Tim Drake,” Tim says, and he offers out a hand.

For a second, Jason just looks at it with suspicion. He expects Tim to continue, to reach out and touch him like so many people have. But he just holds his hand there, and Jason realizes he wants him to… shake it?

For the very first time, he closes his hand around someone else’s and gives it a shake. It feels… surprisingly human, doing this. It only lasts for a second or two, but it somehow manages to leave Jason almost breathless.

And then it’s over.

“Drake,” Jason says, after a moment’s pause. “Like Drake Breeders Drake?”

Tim’s cheeks go pink, and he scratches behind his head, shrugging. “The very same.”

Drake Breeders isn’t a huge company with a monopoly on the industry, not like the Wayne or Janus businesses. But it’s a household name in Gotham, and nearly everyone knows someone with one or two Drake-brand slaves. They range from “affordable” to “luxury,” whatever the fuck that means. Jason has to wonder what he’d be sold for if he’d grown up in a proper breeding center. Would the Drakes think him worth the twenty-five million Bruce coughed up for him?

Maybe something in his eyes spells out how he feels, because Tim seems to shrink under his gaze. “Er, Steph, you wanna go see if we can find Cass…?”

Steph lights up at the suggestion. “Yeah! Babs, you good here? Wanna come with?”

Barbara looks from the pair of them to Jason. It almost looks like she’s asking permission, wondering if their conversation — if it could be called that — is over. Jason gives a terse nod. It’s not that he wants to be away from her, or even away from Steph and Tim, who, so far, have been talking to him like a person. But he’s never been a social butterfly. Doesn’t know how to keep up a conversation when it goes both ways like that, when it isn’t just someone oohing and ahhing at him.

“Sure,” Barbara says, reaching down to move the wheels of her chair and turn it around. Before she turns away completely, she smiles and says, “It was nice meeting you, Jason.”

“Yeah,” Jason says, feeling his cheeks light up about as red as her hair. “You too.”

As the afternoon stretches on, Jason’s patience wears thin. It’s one thing to be treated as an object when you’re just another slave, while the “people” flap their lips and go about their business. It’s another thing entirely to be the literal object of everyone’s attention. He’s been pinched, fondled, leered at, talked over, and belittled so many times that he feels like he’s about to burst, and he very nearly opens his mouth to tell some pompous asshole exactly what he thinks of him when an arm lands over his shoulders.

“Little brother, it’s about time we head on up,” Dick says, nodding toward the front of the yard where Alfred is waiting for them. “Everyone’s starving.”

Jason sets his teeth so hard they audibly clack. “Uh-huh.”

Dick has to practically drag him away from the man so his murderous gaze doesn’t turn into a murder attempt. Presumably, that would cost Bruce a little bit more than twenty-five mil.

The grass is soft under his feet, the sun warm on his face. Any other time, it would be a nice day. Jason likes days like these, in the Gotham spring, where everything is warming up and the acidic chill of winter has faded into a bad memory.

Today is about to become one of those bad memories.

A platform has been erected near the front of the yard, with a chair in the center that Dick guides him to. It’s warm from the sun, soothing on Jason’s muscles after walking around being forced to mingle for a few hours. Alfred steps up beside him once he’s down, pressing a hand to his shoulder to give it a firm squeeze.

In his other hand, he holds a large carving knife.

“Dear boy,” he whispers, and it’s an unfairly grandfatherly tone — or, the tone Jason imagines a kindly old grandfather would use. He wouldn’t know. “I understand how stressful this must be for you. Stiff upper lip; we’re almost done.”

Jason nods, but he doesn’t look at Alfred. Of all the people in the manor, Alfred is one of the least infuriating, but he’s still one of Bruce Wayne’s loyal slaves. Still a part of this society that treats people like them like dirt. He doesn’t know how the hell anyone can keep a “stiff upper lip” in a situation like this, but something about Alfred’s tone makes him want to try.

Alfred has been good to him so far. He can be good for Alfred.

When they see him on the platform, the party guests start to line up. Dick, Cass, Harper, and Cullen, Bruce’s other slaves, start to walk up and down the line, distributing plates and silverware. He can practically see their mouths watering, and suddenly feels an awful lot like a sheep in a den of wolves.

Alfred lets go of his shoulder. “Leg out, please. There we are.”

Jason does as he’s told. Alfred wipes his thigh down with a wet cloth, and he shudders under the touch. Shudders under the audience.

“Friends,” Bruce says, and Jason jumps when he realizes he’s on stage next to him. Fucker can move like a ghost when he wants to. “Thank you again  _ so _ much for coming. It means the world to me, and to Jason, too.”

_ Does it, now? _

Jason narrows his eyes as Bruce’s hand lands on his back.

Alfred sharpens the knife.

“I know you’ve all been waiting, and the other refreshments only go so far, don’t they?” He smiles, and the crowd laughs, like it’s all some big joke. “I’m sure you’re all dying to get a taste, so please, don’t let me keep you any longer.”

Then he has the gall to smile down at Jason, smile like this is something to be smiling about. Jason saves his most withering glare for Bruce, and then the knife slices into his leg.

It feels hot, being cut into like that. Searing. But it’s a heat that Jason still isn’t used to, one that sends a shiver up his spine and the blood to his cock. There’s not an ounce of pain to be felt, not a single shred of it as Alfred slices a thin strip off of his leg.

“I want the skin!” someone in the crowd jokes.

Jason wants to gag.

One by one, the party guests step up, and Alfred places a raw slice of his meat onto their plates. They smile as if what they’re doing isn’t barbaric. They compliment him on how tender he looks, at how easily his meat slices under their utensils. They eat him raw, his blood shining on their lips, standing around and talking, picking at side dishes that other slaves bring around to serve them.

By the time Alfred reaches bone, Jason is drenched in sweat. Panting, gripping the edges of his seat, he tries to ignore his throbbing cock. Tries to ignore how the partygoers look at him, because he may be an object, but that doesn’t mean they can’t sexualize him like a whore, too.

No. No, a whore would be having a better time than him right about now. At least whores get paid. At least a good chunk of them do what they do out of their own free will.

“Halfway there,” Alfred chirps beside him, straightening up to walk around to his other side. His hands are stained red with blood, but somehow he’s managed not to get any on his suit. Woozy, Jason lets him tug his leg into place and start cutting into it to feed the rest of the hungry party guests.

To his credit, Alfred works like a professional. He doesn’t say anything about Jason’s cock straining so close to his hands, his face. He doesn’t stare. Doesn’t try to touch any more of his body than he needs to. And his cuts are crisp and clean, spelling out decades of experience.

How many times, Jason wonders, has Alfred done this? To Dick? To Cass? To Harper, maybe even to Cullen? Even through his arousal, Jason is sick to his stomach.

He watches Bruce across the yard as he boozes and schmoozes. Bruce looks back a few times, always with that soft smile, disarming and attractive.

Wait— No.  _ Don’t think of Bruce that way, _ he chides himself.

But it’s getting hard to think of anything else. Every attractive person that steps by to come grab their bit of flesh, Jason finds himself looking at. Even some of the unattractive ones catch his eye. It’s hard to think straight while being forced to sit still through so much pleasure.

His foot starts tapping impatiently, twitching a bit as the muscles in his leg reconnect themselves. He lets out a shaky sigh. A bead of sweat rolls into his eye, and he blinks it away. The sun is setting.

Searching for something, anything to distract himself from what he’s feeling, Jason scans the crowd and tries to search for people he knows, people whose names he hasn’t forgotten.

Shock of red hair. Kate Kane. Standing with her arm around another woman, laughing at something someone else is saying.

_ Don’t think about them together. Stop it. Find someone else. _

A slave in a thin metal Wayne Enterprises collar and an all-black outfit. There’s Cassandra. Looks like she’s smiling at that Steph girl as she chats with Barbara. Tim’s nowhere to be found.

_ You just met them. Don’t think about them like that. _

Across the yard, a few people erupt into clapping and cheers. Jason looks over. In the center of the little group, there’s Dick, still just as naked as ever, but this time doing a handstand. Fucking show-off.

_ Ugh. He’s so fucking attractive, it’s infuriating. Don’t. Just look away. _

But it’s hard to look away from someone like Dick. He commands attention, and unlike Bruce’s other slaves, he’s chosen to go naked exclusively. Bastard knows exactly how hot he is. Apparently, he used to be a circus kid before Bruce bought him. Knows how to play to a crowd, and loves their eyes on him.

A hand closes around his shoulder, and Jason jumps.

“Hey. How’s it going?”

It’s Harper. With her blue and purple hair slicked up, and her outfit consisting of only a pair of pants, she looks about as calm and self-assured as ever.

“Oh, you know,” Jason says. “Half my legs are missing, and I’ve got a boner in front of about fifty people. So it’s a pretty great day.”

Harper laughs. She’s about as sarcastic as he is, and of all of Bruce’s slaves, she’s the one he’s gotten closest to so far. There’s something about her that’s more genuine than the rest of them, easier to get along with. Cass is quiet, Cullen is young and innocent, and Dick is an annoying fuckhead. It’s nice to have someone around near his age that he can connect with.

Of course, right now, he’s trying not to connect his eyes with the swell of her chest. It’s not working super great.

“If you want,” she says, “I can take care of that for you.”

She gestures to his cock straining between his legs. Immediately, Jason goes red.

“You really don’t have to do that,” he says.

“Hey, it’s no trouble. I mean…” And she looks down at his lap, giving a playful smirk. “...you look good.”

“I, uh.” Jason tries to look somewhere else. Dick, standing on a table now. Barbara, talking to her father. Bruce, with Tommy’s arm around him. “Thanks?”

Harper rolls her eyes and chuckles. “You know, you don’t have to be so shy all the time. It’s okay to let loose.” Playful look on her face, she teases, “You can look at me. The girls don’t bite.”

“The girls” are perky and round, with pink nipples hard in the lowering temperature. Jason licks his lips and allows himself to look, head dizzy with pleasure-pain.

“I…”

“I know,” Harper says, reaching up to grab her breasts. “Pretty impressive, right?”

Jason licks his lips and nods.

Slowly, she sinks down onto her knees. She doesn’t seem to mind the puddle of blood beneath Jason, kneeling right in the mess. Her hands run up Jason’s thighs, the inner sides where the meat is still intact.

“I won’t lie,” she says, “I’ve been thinking about this for a while now.”

“Y-yeah?”

“ _ Oh _ yeah.” Harper’s grin is dangerous as she moves her face closer to Jason’s crotch. “You know you’re hot, don’t you?”

Jason does not, as a matter of fact, know that. He’s always thought he’s average at best, especially when surrounded by people like Harper and Dick. Just attractive enough to be worth fucking with, but not enough for people to actively have a crush on him or anything like that. To say he’s shocked would be an understatement.

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to say anything, because Harper holds eye contact with him and takes the head of his cock into her mouth. He can’t do anything but moan; the sensation is intense already, with how long he’s been teased and denied. As much pain as he would be feeling without the injections he’s gotten while under Bruce’s care, all of it’s been transferred to pleasure. It’s agony all the same to sit through, just in a different way than what he’s used to.

Harper swallows his cock with an ease that’s startlingly impressive. A hand wrapped around the base, she works him with her mouth, glossy lips roaming over his skin. Slowly, with her eyes still on him, she uncurls her fingers one at a time, sinking deeper and deeper until her nose is flush with Jason’s pubic mound.

He feels her chuckle around him, and wonders what his face must look like. If he’s as red as he feels, he’s probably rivaling the color of the rapidly-setting sun.

“Fuck, Harper,” he groans, and it’s awkward, having someone he’s only known platonically between his legs like this, but he can’t deny that he wants her. Can’t deny how damn good it feels.

His hand comes up, lingering by her head, uncertain. Harper grabs his wrist and tugs him the rest of the way, popping off of his cock to breathe out an, “It’s okay. You can be rough.”

Jason isn’t usually the rough type, but he lays his hand on her head, on the little bit of hair that she hasn’t shaved off. His fingers curl through it when she sinks back down on him, and he tosses his head back with another, louder groan.

He can feel people’s eyes on him now. A bit of the conversation closest to the stage has died down, and Jason doesn’t want to look to see how many people are watching. His legs burn with the pleasure of them stitching back together, and Harper must know it, because the tips of her fingers poke and prod at the healing, ragged flesh, teasing him. Jason’s whole body jerks, cock throbbing and spitting out a healthy amount of precum into her mouth.

“S-sorry,” he gasps, tugging her hair a little. “Sorry.”

Harper just hums around his cock, and the vibrations drive him wild. He starts to rock his hips up to meet her whenever she sinks down, and she takes it like a champ, like she’s done this a million times before. The sloppy sounds of her mouth around him go right to his head, and her fingers in his open wounds make him twitch underneath her.

When he feels like he can’t take any more stimulation, she stops and pulls away. He’s embarrassed to say he  _ whines, _ hips gyrating in his seat.

“Hey,” Harper says. “Sit a little closer to the edge, lean back. Yeah, like that.”

In this new position, Jason’s legs part even wider. He can feel the strain of it in his healing wounds. Harper goes back to what she was doing, but this time, a few seconds later, he feels something slick prodding at his hole. He realizes after a heady second that it’s one of her fingers, slick with either blood or spit.

“Hey— What are you—” he starts, but she pushes on without answering, pressing her finger past the tight ring of muscle to caress his inner walls.

Then she quirks it up, and he sees  _ stars. _ He’s always had a sensitive prostate; even when Roman was raping him, he’d shamefully clutch at the seats and come sometimes, while the bastard laughed.

He doesn’t want to think about Roman right now. He wants to think about Harper, with her soft hair and softer mouth.

He knows he’s rapidly approaching the edge. It’s been too long, too much pleasure, too much teasing. She speeds up, rubbing fast little circles into his prostate, making him leak, swallowing it all down. He holds onto her hair for dear life, and she groans; she’s got the same injections as he does, like all of Bruce Wayne’s slaves. Even something as simple as tugging on her hair doubtless feels twice as good as it would for any human.

“Oh fuck, I’m gonna—” he starts, squeezing his eyes shut, blocking out everything but the way she feels on his body. “Harper, I’m— If you don’t fucking stop that, I-I—”

She drags her teeth over his cock on the way up, slowing down to bite just under the ridge of his cockhead. He opens his eyes just in time to see her wink, and then they roll into the back of his head as his orgasm overtakes him.

Harper swallows every drop. He feels her around him, gulping it down, swiping her tongue over the slit between every shuddering burst. She keeps doing it even after he’s finished, until something in his balls twinges, and it sends a late shock of painful pleasure through his body.

“Okay,” he says, finally pulling her back by her hair. “Okay. I can’t— I can’t.”

She licks her lips and giggles, standing up and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “You taste good.”

He’s been hearing it all night, but the line hits differently now. Still, all he can think of to say is, “Uh. Thanks.” Then, glancing down at her pants, “Do you want me to…?”

“Maybe later,” she says, and reaches out to ruffle his hair. “I gotta go bug Steph about something. But you hang in there, ‘kay? Don’t let the bluebloods get you down.”

“Right,” Jason says, still trying to catch his breath. In a puddle of his own sweat and blood, he feels exhausted, and wonders if he’d even be able to please her properly right now anyway. “Later. Yeah.”

“Bye, ‘little brother,’” she teases, giving her fingers a wiggle before hopping off the stage.

Jason presses his lips together and gulps. “See you.”

Looking down at his nearly-healed legs, then up at the sun’s last rays of light, he pushes himself up to try to stand. He sways on his feet, but then Alfred is there again, catching him. He goes even more scarlet than he was before; how long has he been standing there watching him?

“Thanks, Al,” he mumbles, trying not to meet his eyes.

“I think that’s been quite enough excitement for you for one day,” Alfred says, flashing him a smile under that gray mustache. “Perhaps we should take you upstairs. Get you cleaned up and in bed.”

“I, uh. Will Bruce…?”

Alfred squeezes his shoulder warmly. “You leave him to me, dear boy.”

Jason nods, leaning heavily on Alfred as he’s led off the stage. They dodge leering partygoers and head back to the double doors just as the roar of a bonfire starts up behind them. Jason stiffens; he doesn’t associate those with anything good.

But Alfred keeps his promise and leads him inside, all the way up to his bedroom — his own bedroom, which he still doesn’t trust, but it’s a nice treat after spending so many nights sleeping like a dog at the foot of Roman’s bed.

“Thanks,” he says, as Alfred helps him into the bath. “Seriously. I, uh… Sorry. About being so… Yeah.”

Alfred just smiles. “No need to apologize, Jason. Just take care of yourself.”

He nods as Alfred straightens up and heads toward the door.

“I will,” he says, though he doesn’t know if that’s the truth.

Alfred closes the door, and he’s finally alone with his thoughts, alone with his body.

He hopes it stays that way for a good, long time.

**Author's Note:**

> find me [elsewhere](https://linktr.ee/herecomesnaya)


End file.
